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Sponsoring this People page:

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Serving breakfast, lunch and dinner.

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Memorial Day Column: On my father,
Vietnam Vet SFC Dale William Anderson

By Kurt Anderson

My late father, SFC Dale William Anderson, enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1967, two years after graduating high school and intervening, underperforming years in college. He arrived in Vietnam one month after the Tet Offensive launched in March 1968 and stayed until appendicitis in August 1969 sent him to Okinawa and, ultimately, home. His return was not a warm welcome and what happened during his tours is little known by anyone, as he refused to discuss it in great detail with others.

The succeeding decades were marked by addiction and depression, manifested in his treatment of our family. His presence was undying, with unpredictability and harshness in equal measure. He was supportive yet aloof, seemingly unable to reconcile his past and present lives and obviously strained.

I left home when I could, and we spoke topically only for the next 20 years. My mother’s persistence -- a product of a Midwestern dairy upbringing -- was steadfast. She advocated for him, my sister and me simultaneously, and served tirelessly as his health advocate seeking justice from the VA for Agent Orange exposure and other combat-derived afflictions.

I’m grateful that during grad school in Delaware, my Christmas “present” to him was a trip to The Wall in Washington, D.C., a place he had purposely avoided since serving. It was emotional, to say the least. Not just sadness, but he stayed all day and connected with other veterans previously unknown to him. They swapped stories about those remembered only by themselves, but with a common theme and outcome. I like to think it was part of his unpacking.

After some more years of work, travel, and self-reflection, I forgave him (me verbally, he passively, largely unable to communicate) while he was hospitalized for what was the last time, before he died the following month. Our tears together did most of the talking anyway.

I share this memoir on Memorial Day not only to honor my father and those who serve, but also to remind you that they are human. Like him, many are young, enterprising people with the best intentions but left alone to address the consequences of what our leaders command them to do in the name of our flag. Manifest Destiny looks good on paper, but falls short in practice.

Curiously, for reasons still unknown to my mother and me, my father adamantly resisted my pen-wielding attempt to join the Navy after high school. Rather, he insisted that I go another route; I relented and don’t regret it. In his own way he cemented his legacy of service to country and the hope that it does better by future generations.

I think it's cliche but not undeserved to "thank a veteran." However, let me suggest taking it one step further and asking "How are you doing?' My father could have benefited from that inquiry much earlier in life, and you might just be surprised what a difference it makes.

(The author, an Economic Developer, is a resident of Montour Falls.)